“One of you may remain.” Gu Yanxi spoke with the ease of someone who owned the place, and took the young miss from Bao Xia, settling her against himself. He picked up the medicine bowl, drew a mouthful into his own mouth, pressed his lips to Hua Zhi’s, and slowly transferred the medicine into her.

He moved very slowly. As he fed her, he used his other hand to work with gentle skill along her jawline. When he felt no swallowing movement, he slowed his actions even further — yet even so, more than half of it still spilled out.

Looking at the person whose face and body were flushed crimson all over, Gu Yanxi touched her cheek with tender care. When Ying Chun wrung out a cloth and handed it over, he received it as naturally as breathing, and used it to wipe down Hua Zhi.

Ying Chun stood momentarily dazed. Before her was an utterly unclothed young miss and an immaculately dressed Regent — yet the thought of propriety or reputation simply did not enter her mind. All she wanted to do was weep — to weep without holding back. How much hardship had the young miss endured to reach today? She was on the verge of the life she had longed for — cared for by her family, cherished by the Regent — how wonderful, how wonderful it could have been! Young miss, the life you have waited so long for is almost within reach — how could you fall like this?

Bao Xia wiped away her own tears and pushed Ying Chun toward the corner of the bed. She took the soiled cloth from the Regent’s hands, washed it clean, and passed it back to him. Then she efficiently went to change the basin of water and opened a jar of wine, adding some of it in.

“I will take care of it.”

Bao Xia’s tears rolled down at once — yet she genuinely worked alongside Gu Yanxi just like that.

The second dose of medicine still only went in a little. The fever would not break. The inner room was thick with the smell of wine, while outside it was as oppressive as storm clouds pressing down from above. When sounds came from beyond the courtyard gate, no one paid it much mind — word of the young miss’s grave illness and unconscious state must have spread, and someone from the Zhu family coming over was to be expected.

Hua Yizheng lifted his head — and froze when he caught sight of that shade of imperial yellow. He had only seen the Sixth Prince from a distance a few times before; the prince had been young then, out of favor, and looked nothing like the man now striding forward with the bearing of a tiger and the step of a dragon.

His body moved before his mind caught up — he sank to his knees, and instantly the entire courtyard followed.

The young emperor, however urgent his concern, had not lost his composure. Everyone here was no ordinary subject — they were the Grand Preceptor’s family. He would never forget how Hua Zhi, who had not yet known his identity at the time, had told him he could treat the Hua family as his own kin. That word, though the circumstances between them had changed, still held its meaning for him.

He personally helped Hua Yizheng to his feet, and with a gesture lifted Hua Pingyu as well, then asked without a moment’s delay, “How is the Grand Preceptor? Word has been spreading in all directions — I simply couldn’t rest without coming.”

He said “I,” not the imperial “We” — and from that alone, the measure of his regard was clear. Hua Yizheng’s heart rejoiced for Zhi’er. He harbored no resentment toward this young man for what the previous emperor had done, and clasped his hands with respect. “In reply to Your Majesty — Zhi’er is still running a fever.”

The emperor heard this and would not be stopped — he immediately moved toward the inner room. “I’ll go and see her.”

Hua Yizheng held back the others, allowing only his eldest son to follow him inside. There, they saw the new emperor — his brow written with worry — stop at the bedside, then change direction and go to stand before Divine Physician Yu.

“How long before the Grand Preceptor’s fever breaks?”

Elder Yu shook his head. “Your Majesty, this old physician cannot give you a definitive answer.”

The emperor was anxious, and with any other imperial physician he might have lashed out with a rebuke. But before Divine Physician Yu he had no such standing — to say nothing of others, Shao Yao alone could come back and turn his imperial study inside out, let alone that he was depending on this man to treat the Grand Preceptor’s illness.

He performed a solemn bow. “Please, do your utmost to find a way.”

Elder Yu quickly stepped aside. “This old physician would not dare otherwise. I will devote my every effort.”

“I have brought Xiao Shuang with me — whatever medicines are needed, simply tell him.”

“Understood.”

The emperor looked at the tightly drawn curtain surrounding the bed. From the corner of his eye he noticed a pair of men’s shoes at the foot of the couch, and whatever he had not yet understood became clear — but he said nothing of it. He turned instead and beckoned to Bailin and Zeng Han.

“Frightened, weren’t you? Don’t be afraid. The Grand Preceptor was simply too weary and wanted to rest — she’ll be fine once she’s recovered her strength.”

He said it with such certainty, as though it were simply fact. Bailin thought — this must be what Elder Sister had meant when she said that one’s circumstances shape the person. The person who had once crowded into the same bedroll with him, who had once had to fight with everything he had just to draw even with him — the young sixth prince — had grown now into someone who could be a pillar of support for him and for Elder Sister.

The emperor suddenly reached out and lifted Zeng Han into his arms. Meeting the child’s dark, round eyes, he asked, “What should you call me?”

Zeng Han reflexively glanced toward the bed. “Master said Your Majesty is my senior fellow disciple. But the Grand Preceptor also said that knowing it in one’s heart is enough — it doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.”

That was precisely the sort of thing the Grand Preceptor would do. Any other person would find every possible way to draw close and cultivate ties — but when it came to the Grand Preceptor, the closer the bond, the more clearly the lines were drawn, giving no one any foothold to exploit.

His throat constricted unbearably, and the emperor quietly swallowed hard. He ruffled the child’s round little head and said, “You should call me senior brother. The Grand Preceptor will certainly never take another disciple after this — you are my only junior brother, and I am your only senior brother. If you don’t acknowledge me, I’ll have no one from the same school.”

Zeng Han glanced at the bed again. If he disobeyed the Grand Preceptor, would she wake up just to scold him?

He bit his lip, then called out, “Senior Brother.”

“Good boy.” The emperor felt a quiet, inexplicable sense of having only each other in the world — and with that feeling, his sorrow deepened. Heaven was unjust. Why should those who did wicked things live in ease and comfort, while someone like the Grand Preceptor had to suffer so?

He let his gaze drop to conceal the emotion in his eyes. When he raised his head again, a faint smile had returned to his face. “What does Xiao Han want to do when he grows up?”

Zeng Han shook his head.

The emperor, thinking simply that the child had not yet considered it, said with a coaxing lilt, “Would you like to become an official? Your senior brother will look after you — no one will dare bully you.”

Zeng Han shook his head again.

“There’s no need to think of it now — just give it more thought as you grow up.”

“I don’t want to be an official.” Zeng Han’s voice was clear and bright. “I want to live in the Archive Tower and never go anywhere.”

Everyone present — including Hua Yizheng — was momentarily stunned. It was an answer no one had anticipated.

“Why would you want to live in the Archive Tower? So long as you are with the Hua family, can you not go there whenever you wish?”

“I like it there. And even if I don’t become an official, I can still teach students someday, like the Grand Preceptor.” He paused, then glanced sidelong at the emperor and added, as if to make a point, “I intend to teach very accomplished students.”

That pointed look seemed to imply…

The emperor wanted to smile, yet his nose stung with a sudden inexplicable sorrow. With the Grand Preceptor’s guidance in both word and example, he believed Zeng Han would one day fulfill this ambition — and perhaps this was the highest aspiration a scholar could hold: I will not be an official, yet I will teach a Son of Heaven.

“Then you’ll have to work much harder.”

Zeng Han nodded vigorously.

The exchange could only be called childlike — and yet no one laughed. It had nothing to do with the ranks of those present. It was simply because they all shared the same teacher.

Only now did Hua Yizheng realize that Zhi’er had a remarkable gift for teaching. Her foundation might not have been the deepest, and she could be a little idle at times — but her mind was upright, and she had an exceptional ability to teach according to each person’s nature. That was something very few people could do, and all who possessed it had in the end become great masters of their craft.

Hua Yizheng’s hands trembled slightly inside his sleeves. The Hua family had not produced a great master in two generations now.

Author’s Note: Afraid of a messy ending, your author is writing slowly.